


being there

by civillove



Series: irresistible force paradox [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23007958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: 5 times where Dani didn’t need Malcolm (and 1 time she did)--Dani’s been taking care of herself for as long as she can remember. It’s not that she doesn’t have people in her life who aren’t concerned about her; she has relatives, she has friends, she has a work family. It’s not about having a lack of support.It’s about trust and the fact that she doesn’t give it easily. She’s been working to fix it but currently it’s not one of her strong suits. In her experience it’s hard to depend on someone; she’s learned that people leave, that people are far too capable of disappointing her.It’s because of that she doesn’t let many people in—a defense mechanism, but it’s one that works.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Series: irresistible force paradox [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658032
Comments: 28
Kudos: 143





	being there

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who left comments / kudos on my last brightwell fic! I really appreciate it :3 please enjoy.
> 
> this falls sometime after episode 1x15 and my last brightwell fic 'composure' but you don't have to read it for context unless you want to!

Dani’s been taking care of herself for as long as she can remember. It’s not that she doesn’t have people in her life who aren’t concerned about her; she has relatives, she has friends, she has a work family. It’s not about having a lack of support.

It’s about trust and the fact that she doesn’t give it easily. She’s been working to fix it but currently it’s not one of her strong suits. In her experience it’s hard to depend on someone; she’s learned that people leave, that people are far too capable of disappointing her.

It’s because of that she doesn’t let many people in—a defense mechanism, but it’s one that works.

She’s got herself, years of practice creating a hard, outer shell, a strong armor that protects and shields. She doesn’t need someone to step in and try to change her mind, doesn’t need protection; doesn’t want it. JT and Gil understand it; have worked with her long enough to see that she can take care of her own.

Bright steps in when he doesn’t need to.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate the concern, looking out for one another is what they teach at the academy, it’s what it means to be a part of a team. She’s used to that; but Malcolm is something different. When he looks at her, she can tell it’s more than just a simple glance; he’s trying to get a read on her as if he’s looking at a crime scene. Clues and words hidden underneath her skin making themselves known the longer he appraises—it’s unnerving to say the least.

She can feel him watching her sometimes when he thinks she’s not paying attention.

The way his eyes travel over her form, like he’s looking for a place of vulnerability where he can sink into her skin, read between her bones like an X-Ray. He cares about her and _she_ cares about him; they’re both working on becoming better friends for the other. But he has to understand that she’s tougher than she looks—she hasn’t been through anything compared to him, but she still has scars, words and experiences that have left wounds that he can’t see but are trying to heal.

She carries things that make her stronger and, on some level, Malcolm gets that—there’s a string of understanding trauma that ties them together.

Dani physically shakes herself as Bright reaches a hand out to help her off the ground. He lingers, fingers brushing the inside of her wrist as she looks over her shoulder at the perpetrator. He’s not moving; there’s blood on her shirt. His blood. She did what she had to, she knows that even though her hands are trembling. He ran at her and despite her warnings, she had to fire her weapon.

She’s done everything by the book.

Dani’s only fired her weapon with the intent of injuring someone four times in all her years of being a cop. It doesn’t get any easier. Malcolm’s eyes are on the body before they fall on her, once again trying to file away her expressions for later, to keep them so he knows pieces of her without her permission.

“I’m alright,” she says before he has the chance to ask, running her palms down the front of her jeans.

A small smile plays with the corners of his mouth; he doesn’t quite believe her. “I know.”

She doesn’t need him to look out for her but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

\--

  1. The Honey Trap



Distantly, she knows why the coined phrases of ‘honey pots’ and ‘traps’ are important, depending on the case. But that doesn’t mean she likes it. The idea of luring their latest profile makes her skin crawl as she stands at a bar in a busy nightclub. She lets out a soft sigh, the mixture of blue and purple lights pulsing with the loud beats and digging under her skin. It’s enough to set her on edge as she leans against the counter, stirring the olive in a martini that she’s not drinking.

She takes a look around, eyes falling on various couples, girls out having fun and men trying to score a good time. Dani pokes the pad of her finger with the toothpick holding her olive as it sits in her drink, the profile Bright put together flashing through her mind’s eye. This is probably the part of the job that gets to her the most, that there is someone in this room that they’re trying to arrest who’s capable of disturbing ferocity and unrelenting violence.

A shiver slides down her spine, almost creating goosebumps along her arms. She fixes her hair to better cover her earpiece and as she sits on the bar stool, her leather skirt riding a little up her thigh for a desired effect.

Aaron Black easily falls into the personality type that the team discussed; powerful, wealthy and entitled. He makes a living giving men ‘advice’ about how to take charge of their dating worlds but all that translates into is not taking no for an answer. Their perp has been circling these waters at this bar and looking for someone like her, if they’re lucky, if Malcolm’s profile is right.

It shouldn’t take long.

“Try not to look as annoyed as you feel.” She hears in her ear, a soft smile tugging at the edges of her mouth.

Dani’s done undercover before; she knows how to suck the uncomfortableness through gritted teeth and push on.

She turns just a little, nursing alcohol that has condensation beginning to roll down the glass and over her fingers. She spots him over her shoulder, trying to blend into the crowd. He’s dressed a little differently than she’s used to; a pair of black jeans and a white button-down shirt. He looks relaxed in a way he rarely is, he looks _good,_ comfortable, and because of that she almost wishes this had nothing to do with a case.

“Are you trying to say I’m not approachable this way?” She chews on her lower lip, their eyes meeting briefly across the room amidst the chaos of the bar.

“I didn’t say that.” There’s a smile to Malcolm’s voice even though she can’t see him through the crowd anymore.

Dani rubs her thumb against the base of the martini glass, adjusting on the seat so that her heels rest easier against the stool bar and purposely showcases her long legs. She clamps down on waves of impatience,

“Are you sure he’s going to—”

A guy sits down next to her, interrupting her sentence, his gaze zeroing in on where her skirt meets her thighs. It’s not Aaron Black, but someone else significantly older than her, looking for a good time in the wrong place. He sticks out here like a sore thumb; a dated button down shirt with a pattern that reminds her of her grandmother’s couch and gray pressed suit pants.

“Here alone?”

She turns her head a little, her badge burning a hole into her back pocket. Dani clears her throat and puts on a polite smile; the point is not to make a scene. “Yes, but I’m not interested.”

“How do you know? We’ve barely just met.” His teeth are stained yellow from too much tobacco as he smiles, persistent, his confidence digging like nails under her skin.

Of course he’s not going to take no for an answer, because that’s the type of night she’s having. She takes a slow breath through her nose, shifting on the bar stool. She doesn’t have time for this; she can’t look out for Aaron Black and deflect unwanted advances from this guy at the same time.

He leans forward into her space, a hand falling to her leg and thumb attempting to brush her inner thigh. It takes everything in her not to strong arm him against the bar; she settles for the next best thing and pulls out her badge. Dani presses it too hard into this guy’s hand that hasn’t left her leg,

“What part of not interested are you having trouble with?” She asks, voice cold as steel. It’s worth it just to see a look of fear wash over this guy’s cocky persona. He stumbles back, nearly tumbling off his bar stool, and mumbles an apology before moving on.

She sighs and goes to put her badge away, turning slightly to see… “Bright?” Confusion colors her tone, the profiler hovering near the bar on her other side. “What’s going on? Did I miss him coming in?”

Malcolm hesitates, his mouth opening for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, uh, you didn’t miss him.” Even in the dim lighting of the bar, she can see the soft pink flush on his cheeks. “Did you…did you know that there are roughly 20,000 known species of bees. Cause you know, the honey trap and all.”

Dani blinks, drumming her fingers on the counter. “You came over here just to tell me that?”

He laughs, the sound short and quick and he takes a step back, almost bumping into a waitress with a drink tray. It’s then she realizes,

“Did you…think I needed help?”

It’s not a question exactly and Bright sticks his hands in his pockets, most likely so she can’t see his fingers twitch when his thoughts are moving too fast for his tongue to articulate. “No, why would I think that?” But there’s a sheepish inflection that makes her smile, “I know you can handle yourself.”

She watches him back up again, intending on going back to where he was to cover the secondary look out point.

“I can,” She agrees quietly, not intending for him to hear it.

Dani’s used to depending on herself but she has to admit that she likes the idea of him looking out for her.

\--

  1. Under your skin



“You’re sure this is him?” Dani looks through the one-way interview window at the precinct, crossing her arms over her chest.

A man that reminds her of some sort of lizard sits at a table, still in handcuffs, stares right back at the glass even though he can’t see her. He’s dressed in a perfectly pressed black suit, hair slicked back, a knowing smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. She shakes her head, something sick twisting down her spine—she’d like to smack that look right off his face.

“Yeah that’s him,” Malcolm slips his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels a moment before turning his attention on her. “He’s a narcissist. The moment Gil mentioned the murders he wanted ownership of them.”

Her jaw clenches, heat festering under skin, a white hot anger slipping in-between her ribcage and almost making it difficult to breathe. His victims’ pretty faces flash before her eyes; the fact that they barely caught him, that he’s sitting there with a smug expression on his face as if he hasn’t been convicted for rape and murder—

No, she refuses to let him sit there so unbothered.

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” She says quickly, already making the decision for herself. “Tell he’s been booked and that they’re getting ready to process him.” To detail his very long and unhappy journey that he has ahead of him; life in prison, not a moment’s possibility of parole.

She wants to take the light right out of his eyes.

Malcolm’s mouth opens slightly, soft sigh passing out his teeth because he knows where she’s coming from, of course he _knows—_ able to read her far too easily like the words are printed on her skin.

“Dani…” He trails off, letting silence sit heavily between them.

“I have to, Bright.”

And he holds her gaze before he nods, chin dipping as he considers words that he’s chewing on, not sure whether he should share them.

He says instead, “He’s going to try and get under your skin.”

That doesn’t waver her decision in the slightest, “He can try.”

Dani moves to walk past him and Malcolm catches her elbow gently. When he recognizes that look in her eyes, he knows he can’t stop her even though he might want to. She’s determined and nothing he says is going to sway that.

“I’ll be out here.” A soft promise, a wall of constant support that she doesn’t need but appreciates is there nonetheless.

She nods once before he lets her go, his hand returning to his pocket before she slips into the interview room.

\--

Her hands are shaking as she tries to make tea in the break room. It’s not that she’s upset, exactly, but she’s angry. So angry that it feels like pent up molten lava building up in her chest and spilling over.

She stops a moment and leans against the counter, pressing the palms of her hands into the edges until it stings. Her eyes flutter closed a moment,

_I like women like you. You think you’re incapable of breaking. Which makes it even more satisfying when you do._

Dani doesn’t hear him come in but she feels the moment he stands next to her, his hand hovering over her back before tentative fingers are there, gliding over her spine.

“I told you he’d get under your skin.”

She shakes her head, letting out a slow breath as she turns to look at him. He’s standing closer than she realized, hints of his cologne and laundry detergent and distinctly his skin washing over her like a comforting wave. She almost allows herself to fall into the blue of his eyes.

Almost.

“He didn’t.” She clears her throat and steps out of his touch, satisfied that her hands have stopped shaking when she tends back to her tea.

Malcolm is quiet a moment, watching her, assessing but keeping thoughts to himself.

And then, “I’m surprised you didn’t throw hands in there.”

She laughs suddenly, the sound sneaking up on her. He smiles too, just a little, at the desired effect. “It’s a lot of extra paperwork.”

“Ah.” He agrees and bumps their shoulders together before he leaves her with her tea and thoughts.

\--

  1. Bruised



Dani can honestly say that she’s a bit spoiled when it comes to working with her team. Even with the addition of Bright, they move like magnets (albeit, messy, complicated magnets, but still). Their communication is something they’ve worked hard on, adapting to one another’s strengths and accommodating for weaknesses.

She knows how to depend on herself to get the job done but it’s also nice realizing that she’s not alone (even if it’s something she has to get used to). This is one of those times.

They’re chasing a woman throughout an office space and here she thought this would be an _easy_ arrest—and maybe it would have been if someone hadn’t tipped her off that they were looking for her. The office building is easily thirty stories and while JT and Gil go down, she goes up. Cardio has never been hard for her, practiced jogging sessions pulsing through her mind as she takes the steps two at a time; the patient time of her breathing, her heartbeat sounding in her ears, blood rushing in her veins—that’s comforting.

She knows how to do this part of the job when so many other things prove to be obstacles. But this? She’s got this.

Dani turns a sharp corner, her footsteps echoing in the hollow space, and she raises her gun to checks her blind spots. The woman’s disappeared onto the twentieth-floor. A door opens from beneath her and the patter of clamoring follows—

“Dani!” It’s Gil on fifteen and she leans over the railing to yell back ‘twenty’. She sees the wide shoulders of JT as he follows Gil and…is that Malcolm? She shakes her head, adjusting her posture as she approaches the twentieth floor door slowly—he really doesn’t know how to listen when he’s told to stay outside and out of it.

She reaches for the handle to pull only for the full weight of metal to hit into her straight on, the perp rushing out after. The force is enough to set Dani off balance and before she can right herself, the woman sees her and _hits,_ hard. Her ankle twists and it sends her tumbling, landing more awkwardly than painfully down a few steps. It knocks the wind right out of her lungs and she’s grappling with air as she raises her gun, tries to aim but the woman is already there.

She kicks the gun right out of her hand, her movements fast and ruthless, Dani the only thing between her and her exit. She manages to roll away from her even though the brunt of her weight lands on her ribs.

She knows that she’s going to try and kick her and she feels herself switch over into self-defense mode, anything that can help her take down the assailant. She moves quick, grabs at her ankle as she’s coming towards her and _yanks,_ the woman yelping and going down.

Before Dani has to figure out how to find her gun, JT yells “Freeze!” coming up behind her and aiming his own weapon. Gil is close behind, his eyes finding hers before nudging her gun away from the perp.

“I’m fine,” She tells him because he knows she’s about to ask, her hand clutching her side as she sits up against the steps. She takes a mental note of what hurts; a bunch of bumps registering on her knees and elbows but nothing seems urgent other than her ribs.

_Fuck._

“You don’t look fine.” Gil puts his gun away as JT hauls the woman up, Bright finally making it up with the steps with measured breaths.

“Why were we against the elevator, again?” He asks, leaning against the railing before his gaze finds hers. “Are you okay?”

Dani attempts to wave him off with a wry smile, “Yeah, just adding ‘falling down steps’ to my calisthenics regiment.”

When Malcolm catches his breath, he walks up the last few steps to her, offering his hand, “Come on, lets get you up.”

Gil watches them carefully, hands falling to his hips, “You’re going to get checked out.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, knowing it’s coming from a place of caring but this isn’t anything to fuss over. “Really,” She says as she allows Malcolm to reach around her to lift her up, his arm slipping around her waist, “I’ve had worse—”

A sharp intake of breath sounds quickly out of her lips, a shuddered whimper making her grit her teeth as her body connects with Bright’s. He winces out of sympathy, slowing his movements as he helps her stand, taking most of her weight as she nearly doubles over.

“That sounds like fractured ribs to me.”

She tries to glare at him but she’s in too much pain, focusing on standing upright and leaning into the warmth of his side like a wall of support.

Gil points at her, “Go get checked out. Now.” There’s no room to argue.

Dani huffs out a small sound but doesn’t bother giving a reply; she knows there’s no choice. There’s a smile working its way onto Malcolm’s face at her stubbornness, gently squeezing her hip as they turn to walk down the steps.

“Elevator?”

Her bangs are in her eyes and she attempts to brush them out of the way. “That’s the most helpful thing you’ve said all day.”

\--

Dani insisted that once Bright dropped her off at the hospital that he should go home. He doesn’t need to sit there through her X-Ray and the doctor consult and yet he’s off finding a coffee vending machine somewhere. She noticed that he seemed a little out of sorts in the waiting room, his leg bouncing as he chewed on some of his fingernails.

If the rambling about the inhumane concept of hospital rooms didn’t tip her off than his jittery behavior certainly does—she isn’t sure coffee is the best thing for him right now but she’s not going to argue about it either. Some of the nervous energy was bound to release itself on his walk back and forth.

She thinks she understands where he’s coming from despite not being forthcoming with his emotions (even though he _has_ been trying better with her). Hospitals are unnerving enough to make the strongest person a bit skittish; she’s not a fan of them either. But if she had to guess, it probably has to do with his father and the unsetting sense that his presence is somehow _here,_ connected with these white walls, fluorescent buzzing lightbulbs and floors that smell like industrial cleaner.

Dani attempts to put her shirt back on after the X-Ray but it’s difficult to raise her arm above her head; so she sits there with fabric half on and half off as she waits for the doctor to come back. Her fingers are barely holding onto the ice pack the nurse gave her, pressing it awkwardly against her skin because the pain seems to be radiating behind her.

She sighs softly as the door opens up and Bright slips inside, his eyes ticking to her hand, her half-shirt and finally her face. “Why don’t tea vending machines exist?”

“I think you’re lucky if you find a coffee one that doesn’t taste like dirt.” She scrunches her nose at his Styrofoam cup. “Good luck with that one.”

“I take it you don’t want any?” He holds his cup out to her like he’s performing some sort of magic trick, trying to tantalize her into taking a sip.

She smirks even though the action hurts before shaking her head. “No, thanks.”

Malcolm hums and takes a slow sip from the cup, his whole face screwing up like he’s sucking on a lemon, “God, that really _is_ terrible.”

“Told you.” She bites down on her lower lip, trying to straighten her posture before switching the ice pack in her hands. She bends her elbow and reaches but this position does little to get relief where she wants it. “See my doctor anywhere?”

Bright shakes his head and does that thing where his jaw clenches, like he’s chewing on a profile that he doesn’t want to share just yet. Dani’s told him before that he overshares and it seems like he’s trying to take that feedback to heart.

She at least appreciates the effort, “What?”

“From what I can tell with how you’re holding yourself you fractured your sixth and seventh ribs.”

Dani raises an eyebrow, “Wow, thanks doctor.”

He smirks and puts his coffee down, stepping closer to her as she sits on the uncomfortable medical table that they have her waiting on. “Well, I did learn from the best, you know, before all the murder.”

She licks her lips, her nose scrunching slightly at the bad joke but mostly because this ice pack is proving so difficult. “I’m debating asking you to wrap me up in bubble wrap and ice packs.”

Malcolm smiles, the thought amusing as he reaches for the ice pack; his fingers feel too warm against her cold ones. “There’s a nerve along the inferior margin of each rib, which is why it feels like the pain is in your back.”

He adjusts the ice pack to the exact part of her back that she needs, a relieved breath leaving her lips as she’s able to relax her arms. Dani’s eyes flutter closed, neck dipping a little as she relaxes into his touch. The heat of his body kisses her side and when she lifts her head to look at him, she realizes how close he really is.

He’s looking down at her, some of his hair coming loose from gel and slipping over his forehead, blue eyes searching her own. Heat stirs in her stomach, slipping lower, a fluttering sensation that she instantly wants to squish as she finds herself looking at his mouth.

It has to be the pain bringing her inhibitions down but she catches herself thinking about what his lips would feel like over the bruises forming on her skin, on her mouth, on other soft, heated places.

“Dani…” He trails off, his mouth opening to say something else when the door bangs open.

Between his unsteady hands and the sound catching her off guard, Bright leans forward and accidently presses her ribs. She grabs at his wrist, quickly, to stave off the pain and the doctor seems to sense that he’s interrupted something because he clears his throat and looks at the clipboard in his hands.

“Sorry,” Malcolm says quickly, his hands falling as he hands her the ice pack.

“I got it. Let’s hope your hands are steadier when it comes to other things.” She quips and squeezes the pack between her fingers. He smiles as the doctor starts to tell her about her X-Ray (fractured sixth and seventh ribs) and tries not to think about how the ice pack feels suddenly warm between her fingertips.

\--

  1. The Surgeon



No one really talks about the fact that they consult Martin Whitly on a lot of cases, especially when there’s the slightest hint of a medical M.O. They discuss profiles with him almost as often as they ask after Malcolm’s expertise and Dani _knows_ that digs under his skin, despite the fact that he never says anything about it.

It’s all for the sake of solving something, the justification of trading one thing for another; saving lives and putting bad people away. She can’t imagine the amount of compartmentalization Bright has to go through in order to just _stand_ in front of him, to talk to him like a person and not see him as this…thing, a monster, an animal in a cage.

Not even the fact that he has to justify with himself that this is his father and that, on some level, he probably still loves him.

She can’t imagine and she doesn’t know if she ever wants to.

Dani pulls her coat a little tighter around herself as they approach the Surgeon’s hospital room—he’s still recovering from being stabbed by Malcolm’s mother but, for better or worse, he seems to be out of the woods. She glances over at the profiler standing at the door, his fingers tapping against his outer thigh as he stands there, almost like his feet are cemented to the ground.

His nervous energy seems multiplied by a thousand and she’s barely able to disrupt the slew of thoughts assaulting his mind by saying his name. He blinks, finally turning his attention to her after she repeats herself a third time.

“What? Sorry.”

She shakes her head, “We don’t have to do this. I’m sure the profile is just fine without the consult. I don’t think this sounds like expertise we need from the Surgeon anyway.”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to run it past him. I want to make sure we get the right guy.”

Dani senses that this isn’t what the visit is really about but she doesn’t argue against it. Bright’s been avoiding this place, this room, ever since it happened…but he wants to speak to him, and a case feels like the next best way to do that.

He goes to push the door open but then pauses, his hand hovering over the knob like a thought has suddenly occurred to him. He glances at her over his shoulder, mouth opening and closing a moment before he finally says, “You should stay out here.”

She knows she must make a face because Malcolm shifts, giving her an expression back that just conveys how serious he is.

“I know I said I’d try to do better but conversations with my psychopathic father was not what I meant.”

Dani isn’t sure what to say for a moment; they’ve been in front of him before, asked him questions before interrupting a wedding party. What’s the difference now? But she doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, she lets her hand fall to where his is resting on the doorknob and squeezes his fingers, “I don’t want you to have to do it alone,” Even though she knows he has many times before. But the thing about this ‘doing better’ idea is that it can be a two-way street. “We’ll be quick; in and out.”

His resolve seems to buckle a little under the touch before he nods his chin and opens the door, allowing them both to step inside. Dani sticks her hands in her pockets as Martin sits up further in bed,

“My boy!” His skin looks a little sullen; definitely not as lively as the last time she saw him but his personality hasn’t changed. Getting stabbed has done nothing to alter his overall approach to conversations. “And you’ve brought…detective Powell, is it not?” She clears her throat and glances at Bright by way of saying hello but says nothing. “Looking just as vibrant as the last time I saw you.”

She ignores the greeting and goes straight to the matter at hand, “Dr. Whitly—”

“Martin, please. This is the second time my son’s brought you around,” He smiles, eyes fluttering over her like butterfly wings. “I think a first name basis is a must.”

“We wanted your opinion on a case,” Bright says suddenly, trying to shift the attention in the room. His voice is tense, like something has wrapped its clutches around his throat when he speaks, “The killer is removing the knee-caps from his victims—”

“You know they’re only giving me _lime_ jello?” He laughs, head tilt back a little. “I mean, lime jello, really, the audacity. I never had my patients eat lime jello in recovery. Always cherry.”

His attention is almost on her completely to the point where it feels hypnotic, like he’s trying draw a moth into a flame. He hasn’t once looked at Malcolm since he entered the room. Dani shifts on her feet, “How hard is it to remove a knee-cap?”

Martin suddenly looks bored, letting out a breath between his teeth. “It’s not incredibly difficult, but _dull_ if you ask me. The killer is going through all this trouble for _kneecaps_ for his trophies?”

“The killer feels subjugated,” Bright adds in, “It’s a metaphor.”

Martin hums, pondering a thought for a moment before, “What flavor jello do you prefer, detective?”

There’s something distinctly electric between Martin and his son, filling the air with static. He’s trying to purposely get under Malcolm’s skin, and with the way his fingers keep clenching into a fist at his side, its working.

“Let me guess,” A quiet consideration, “Lemon?”

Malcolm takes a step forward, nearly in front of Dani as he speaks, “Don’t.”

“Oh, come now, Malcolm,” He tuts, his attention finally settling on his son but there’s a tug of war happening between her eyes. Tension underlying that she doesn’t see or understand but it’s starting to strangle everyone in the room, “I’m just trying to get to know your friends, here.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Bright says quickly, teeth almost gritting with constrained anger, “Don’t.”

Martin looks past him, his delighted eyes finding hers, “He doesn’t want to share you, which I can’t say that I blame him.”

Dani reaches for Malcolm’s arm, preventing him from taking another advancing step forward; she doesn’t need him to defend her honor—they’ve got more important things to worry about. “I think,” She says after a moment, waiting until Bright locks eyes with her. She sees the moment he decides to back down, his body uncoiling under her touch as he slips back to stand beside her.

“He just wants to focus on the case we were asking you about. As do I.”

Martin rolls his eyes with a disgruntled noise, settling for grabbing his green jello from a tray next to him, stabbing it with a plastic spoon. “Very well, spoil sports.” He chews for a moment before responding to her original question about the knee-cap, “It’s easy to remove someone’s patella, and extremely painful to do it while someone’s _awake._ Especially with those tendons and ligaments.” He smiles just for a moment, “Pain like that is more than just a metaphor.”

Dani clears her throat, motioning towards the exit. They’ve gotten all they can possibly use, “We should get back to the precinct.”

Martin physically deflates at the idea that his entertainment is leaving but he waves a jello-ed spoon at her, “Was wonderful to see you again detective Powell; don’t be a stranger.”

She pulls on the sleeve of Bright’s coat before he can get roped into another conversation, the door closing firmly behind them. It’s not until they’re outside on her way to her car that she gives the profiler a once over. He looks wound tight, on the verge of snapping, to say the least—and she bites her tongue on asking him why he thought that talking to his father about this case was a good idea.

She puts the heat on when she gets into the car, Malcolm’s leg bouncing like a jack hammer after he connects his seatbelt. She watches it for a moment before putting a firm hand on his knee. He presses his lips together, leans back into the seat, and stops.

“You want to tell me what just went on in there?” She asks but already knows he’s not going to give her very much to work with.

“He might not be a profiler,” Bright says after a moment, “But sometimes I forget how well he can read me.” That’s not exactly what she meant by asking but he gave her more than she thought she was going to get.

Dani clamps down on a question bubbling up her throat on how this has anything to do with her— “He’s your dad.” She says quietly, by way of explanation.

There’s a short bark of laughter from Malcolm as he shakes his head. He glances at her for a moment before leaning his elbow near the window, threading his fingers through his hair, “Yeah, don’t remind me.”

\--

  1. Missing Pieces



It’s Edrisa, of all people, who fill her in on something she’s been missing. No, not missing, something that’s been purposely _kept from her._

It’s been a difficult case for everyone, the bodies of dead homeless children filling the air with a tension and urgency that’s been hard to swallow as of late. Even Bright, who seemingly enjoys when a new murder finds its way into their laps, treads carefully with the comments he offers that dangerously hint he’s having a good time solving crimes.

They’re closing in on a profile but having a hard time nailing down the suspect because the kids aren’t in the system—they’re nameless, living off the street, which just makes it harder when trying to bring them justice. They have no connection to the world, to New York, to families or friends or people who are missing them.

But this? This unspoken information—there’s no excuse for this. She knows she’s come into this a little late; she was helping narcotics close a specific case that she consulted on a few months ago but she’s noticed something has been off since she asked Malcolm what they had so far.

He’s been edgy and dismissive, which for him isn’t too out of the ordinary, but it feels like he’s walking on eggshells around her. She’s been too busy to discuss things with JT or Gil, but she thought that sharing a cup of tea with Bright meant he’d fill her in.

He’s been purposely keeping information from her and now she knows why.

When she finds him in one of the conference rooms that they consistently work in, mulling over files and tapping a pen against the table, she all but throws the file in her hand at him. He nearly jumps, looking up at her with wide eyes,

“Crotona. Park.” She all but spits, staring at him, forcing the words down onto his shoulders.

Bright swallows, flattening his palms against the table. “Dani…” He tries but she shakes her head, doesn’t want to hear it.

“The park that you found the kids in. Were you ever going to tell me it was in the Bronx?” She’s asking even though she already knows the answer, watching him calmly collect the papers on the table that she’s messed up.

She feels anger bubble up in her bloodstream and slip into the joints of her arms and legs, almost making her weak, trembling to hold herself upright, “You weren’t, were you?”

His blue eyes are swimming with empathy but all that does is somehow make her more upset; she doesn’t want him to feel for her, she wants to know why he lied—why he thought keeping this from her was so important. She was going to connect the dots eventually; why couldn’t he be the one to break it to her? He _knows_ what trust means to her, how hard it is for her to give it out; and this is exactly why she doesn’t.

Malcolm walks from around the table, trying to move towards her, “I know how much the Bronx means to you, I was just—”

She knows that she should let him talk but heated resentment crackles like a fire in her stomach, burning her words, “So that somehow translates into you not being honest with me?”

He shakes his head, his fingers drawing up into the palms of his hands, like he wants to touch her but doesn’t. “I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to approach this with a clear head.”

Dani bites down on the inside of her cheek; that can’t be the excuse. She begins to feel herself fray at the edges and she attempts to take a breath to calm her frazzled nerves, “I would have handled it like I do anything else. All these cases get to us at some point, that doesn’t stop me from doing my job.”

He watches her for a moment, straightening his posture before he licks his lips. He’s doing that thing where he’s reading under her skin, finding words she’s trying so desperately to hide there. “You’re shaking.” He says softly, almost too gentle, and it cracks like a whip against her nerves.

“You’re one to talk!” She snaps back, “There have been so many moments when you should have taken a step back, when Gil and JT and I have told you to wait, to sleep, to _stop._ Did you?”

Malcolm dips his chin a little, considering her words with careful guilt that tells her everything without him having to utter a word. He nods and lets the silence rest, the air stifling between them, allowing her words to register on his skin and sink into his pores.

“You’re right,” He says after a moment and it nearly takes the fight right out of her, the anger sizzling until it disappears like moisture on cement on a hot summer’s day. “I’m sorry.”

There’s this odd push and pull between them lately, like the waves of an ocean, their bodies stuck in the riptide grasp. She thinks she knows what it is but she doesn’t want to call it by name.

Malcolm doesn’t say anything for a few moments, letting his words sink in so she knows he means them. “I was just…”

“I don’t need you to protect me.” It sounds too final and the tiniest bit untrue but he nods his head, respecting her feelings, before she backs up out of the room to collect herself.

\--

Dani, for the most part, depends on herself. Even when people like Gil, who have pulled her from the lowest moments she’s been in, up and out of the muck—the last thing she wants to be is a burden.

Malcolm puts a cup of Earl Grey tea on the corner of her work desk; a peace offering that smells warm and comforting. When she looks up at him, he’s giving her a soft smile, “There are seven different types of Earl Grey; maybe we can work through them all.”

 _Together_ hangs off the end of his sentence and he waits, just long enough for her to pick up the cup and take a sip. “I’d like that.”

She will not put herself so completely in someone else’s power by needing them.

Until one day she does.

\--

\+ 1. Want

The pain is what wakes her; it rouses her up and out of a deep sleep where she doesn’t feel rested. A gasp slips out of her throat followed by a guttural groan, hands trembling, wrists burning. The room is pitch back or maybe she hasn’t opened her eyes yet, she’s having trouble clocking her body reactions, everything feels like an overwhelming exposed and raw nerve.

She lets out a short breath and tries to assess, managing to finally opening her eyelids, a blinding dizziness that follows. The pain in the back of her head triples tenfold with the addition of eyesight and the room is too fuzzy to see, so she closes them again and tries to focus on not vomiting.

The room smells like damp moss and metal, the smell thick and hitting her in the back of the throat. She tastes blood.

There’s a roaring in her ears like the ocean when she tries to sit up, her body protesting to the movement. How long has she been out against this floor, a chill beginning to work up and down her spine when she realizes—

Her shirt is gone, leaving her in her bra and jeans.

She draws her arms against her chest and sits up, leaning against what feels like a rusty pole that digs into her ribcage. When she feels a little more composed and clamps down on her trembling, she opens her eyes. The room is predominately dark, a singular tiny light hanging from a long chord in the ceiling but it’s not enough to give her any defining characteristics.

Dani tries to piece together what happened before she got here, _how_ she got here, a pair of zip ties digging into her skin against her ankles and wrists distracting the playback. She controls her breathing, keeps herself calm, it doesn’t help anything for her to panic.

She leans her head back and ignores the dull throb that greets her before—

The parking garage.

_Dani zips up her jacket as she descends the last set of steps of the precinct that empty into the parking garage, pushing the metal door open with her foot. She holds it open for Bright who’s following closely behind—he may not be talking but his thoughts are busy, she can see them play out as they cloud his usual bright blue eyes._

_“Do you ever take a moment?” She asks, mostly teasing as they pass by cars._

_His looks up at her, almost snapping out of a trance before he smiles, “Sometimes. I think I did a few years ago; didn’t agree with me.”_

_She smiles, a gentle laugh tugging out of her chest. “Would probably do you some good.”_

_Malcolm sighs and pauses to look at the cars, like he’s not quite sure why he followed her down here because he didn’t drive in. “This profile is bothering me. I thought the murderer was obsessive compulsive but we would have heard of another girl from the college being taken by now.” He chews on the inside of his cheek, “He’s been on time with every single kidnapping, his details worked down to the very moment.”_

_She bumps her shoulder into his, “Try not to beat yourself up. It’s not a science, right?”_

_He hums under his breath, a thought still stuck looping in his head. “Right…”_

_Dani rolls her eyes but it’s good natured as she lets out a slow breath, “Well, I’m heading out. Did you need a ride home?”_

_“No,” Then he considers something, hovering between the words stuck on his tongue and backing out. “But I was wondering if you’d be interested in getting a drink somewhere,” She opens her mouth to reply but then he backtracks so hard she’s surprised he doesn’t fall over, “I mean, not a_ drink _drink but like a… you know, cup of tea. Tea.” He nods._

_She smiles at his struggling, takes a step forward to touch his forearm and gives him a brief squeeze, “How about tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”_

_There’s a moment where his eyes are clear, like he’s not thinking about anything else other than this conversation. Other than her, “Tomorrow. I’ll meet you at your apartment.”_

_A flutter of warmth travels up from her belly, filling up her ribcage before he starts walking towards the exit. She begins walking to her car, calling to him over her shoulder, “Get some sleep tonight.”_

_“I’ll think about it!” He replies back, walking backwards to address her before heading out._

_Dani chews on her lower lip to prevent a smile from taking over her face, clearing her throat as she digs out her keys from her purse. There’s the screeching of tires in the distance, which doesn’t gain her attention as much as a door slamming close by. She turns a little, surveying the parking lot, her car beeping as she unlocks the door._

_She pauses, taking in a deep breath into her lungs, observing her surroundings like she does when she steps into a crime scene—her hand instinctively going to her gun._

_“Relax.” She mutters to herself after a moment; she’s really winding herself too tight lately. She turns and manages to get the car door open before something hard hits her over the head._

_She doesn’t remember passing out but she remembers feeling cold._

Dani draws her legs up to her chest, checking the zip tie around her ankles. Even if she slipped her boots off—it’s too tight for it to budge. She looks around, wincing as the light sends little pinpricks of pain along her temple. Maybe there’s…is there anything she can rub the zip tie against that can break the plastic? She turns her neck to look behind her and shimmies the best she can until she’s pressed against the metal pipe and lifts her wrists to begin the process.

Minutes blur together, probably becoming hours. She grows tired at one point but doesn’t remember stopping; there’s the harsh sound of metal clanging that wakes her but no one’s in the room when she opens her eyes.

Her heart begins beating wildly in her chest because…this has to be the guy they were looking into, the profile that Malcolm thought he had wrong. He’s found his next victim, adopting a new type of woman (most likely because they were closing in on him) and time requirement—which gives her a _little_ more than before, but it’s not much.

Within twenty four hours, the girls were dead and not long after that their bodies were found.

A tiny voice in the back of her head that she tries to squash tells her that they won’t find her in time, that it’ll be too late. She sits up a little and swallows, focusing back on the task at hand, nearly rubbing the skin of her wrists raw to get the plastic to break.

No; not with the team she has. Not with Bright leading the profiling. They’ll find her. They will.

Her resolve isn’t as strong as she wants it to be as the hours pass and eventually, the sound she doesn’t want to hear begins to greet her—the scraping on metal, someone trying to open the door. She shifts wildly, trying to get away, to use something as a shield, to break free of the bonds and somehow fight him off.

Her breathing quickens and her heart is slamming in her ribcage to the point where it’s almost painful; she’s _afraid._ But she knows that fear can be useful, it can keep her alive…and that’s what she has to do. To stay alive as long as possible.

The door opens, banging against a wall—

And a relieved noise that nearly sounds like a sob jaggedly leaves her throat because it’s _Gil._ Its Gil coming into the room with his gun raised. “I found her!” He yells over his shoulder and not a moment later, Malcolm is there.

He rushes past Gil and the look in his eyes contains too many emotions for her to name; she dips her chin, her arms shaking as she tries to give herself a bit of privacy. This is not how she intended for Bright to see her the first time in her bra—the commentary feels a little weird, a little hysterical for her to be thinking about right now, but it grounds her.

Malcolm is quick to take his coat off, crouching down in front of her to put it around her shoulders. “Hold on, I got you.” He digs in his pocket for a pocketknife, switching the blade out and cutting the zip tie on both her legs and wrists.

The warmth and scent of his coat around her does little to quell her shaking; it has to be mostly from unused adrenaline, a million other thoughts circling around in her head about what would have happened if they hadn’t gotten there in time. She squeezes her eyes shut against it, can’t think like that, her head dipping forward a little until it connects with Malcolm’s shoulder.

“Put your arms around my neck.” He says, his breath brushing against the skin of her throat.

She slides her arms through the sleeves of his coat and does as she’s told; too tired and strung out to argue otherwise. If this was any other time she knows she’d be making a quip about her legs working, about walking out with her head held high—but not this time. She needs to shut out the room she’s in; she needs him for support. She’s not sure she’d even trust her legs to get her out of this one.

Malcolm lifts her easily, balancing her weight as he walks her out of the room. She doesn’t lift her head until they’re noticeably outside, the weather biting at her skin, the sound of commotion and sirens, of red and blue light. She’s seated on the edge of an ambulance, EMTs rushing around her, asking questions, peeling the coat back so they can get a good look at her.

Bright watches her quietly, his attention torn every so often to where JT and Gil are.

“Did they—” Her voice feels like sandpaper against her throat.

Malcolm nods, “Upstairs. JT got him.”

They check her pulse, the raw skin of her wrists and her head injury. They ask her intimate questions that she doesn’t feel like replying to but manages to give short, quick replies that serve their needs. She’s okay. She’s _okay._

Bright shifts on his feet, running a hand through his hair. His hands are shaking and looks ten seconds from bolting.

“Bright,” She says after a moment, “Can you stay with me?”

Dani sees the exact moment where his resolve strengthens, a straight line slipping up his spine before he nods, fixing her with a gaze that sinks into her pores. “Of course.”

\--

She’s got a concussion but other than that it’s mostly bruises and small cuts. Nothing major that’s going to keep her from coming back to work other than Gil insisting she take a few days to get some rest.

Dani does; she sleeps, she watches terrible TV and she bakes (nothing too fancy, but it takes her mind off of things she’d rather not be thinking about). Tomorrow she’ll go back to work and feel better for it; right now that’s all she can really ask for.

She gathers up her messy curls into a loose ponytail, pulling at the sleeves of a distressed gray sweatshirt when her door buzzer rings. She frowns, her eyebrows crinkling together because she hadn’t expected any company. Dani slips into her bathroom and uses the window to see who it is, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth when she sees it’s Bright.

She buzzes for him to come up and opens her front door, leaning against the door jamb when he approaches.

“Hey stranger,” He lifts two plastic cups in his hands, “I figure since you’re probably not up to going to get tea, it could come to you.”

Dani reaches for a cup, breathing in the aroma as soon as it greets her nose, Malcolm passing her and closing the door behind him. He takes his coat off, his scent mixing pleasantly with the tea as she takes a sip.

She crinkles her nose as she tries to nail down the flavors; definitely citrus. “Russian Earl Grey?”

He grins, “You’re ridiculously good at that.”

“I’m full of hidden talents.” She teases back, motioning him into the kitchen. “I was making French toast?” He rarely eats anything but she likes to offer anyways.

Malcolm shakes his head but follows her regardless, leaning his hip against the counter as she dips bread into the batter mixture to cook on the stove. She makes a few pieces for herself before turning the fire off. When she rolls her sleeves up, a wince pinches her face when the fabric of her sweatshirt drags against the cuts still healing on her wrists.

Pain shoots up her arm like its being injected in her veins and she drops the fork she’s holding out of instinct, the silverware clamoring to the ground. Malcolm moves next to her, bending to get it for her and puts it in the sink. His eyes graze over the sore skin of her wrists and hesitates before touching her,

“Can I see?”

She falters before letting her arm slip into his hands. His fingers brush against her outer arm, bringing her wrist up so he can see the skin a bit better, thumb splaying hers down. He’s not quite pressing where it hurts but it feels like the sensations under her skin are a bit frayed, pins and needles creeping over her fingertips when he touches her a certain way.

Dani pulls back a little and a ghost of a smile tinges the corner of his mouth, “Sorry. Looks sore.”

“Doesn’t feel great either,” She admits, “Though could have been worse for a kidnapping.”

Malcolm hums and gently lets go, sticking his one hand into his pocket while the other lifts his tea. “Don’t I know it,” Well at least he’s able to joke about something like that. “You should try some lavender oil, it helps.”

She picks up her French toast, placing it on the table behind them. Dani takes a long sip of her tea that’s rapidly cooling and sits down, drawing her one leg up to her chest as Malcolm joins next to her.

“You don’t have to get back to the precinct?” She grabs another fork, using it to cut her breakfast after dousing it with syrup. “Did you secretly show up to loop me in on a case?” Her voice is a little too hopeful.

Malcolm shakes his head, unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt as he relaxes into the seat. “No, I just came to see you.” He clears his throat as he plays with words hidden underneath his tongue. “I was uh,” He draws a pattern into the table with his thumb, deciding to finally look up at her as she eats. “I was worried about you.”

Dani holds his gaze, licking her lips as she takes his words into consideration. He doesn’t mean right now, about the past week where she’s taken time to put herself back together. He means _before,_ when she was taken, when she was gone and there was that moment where he thought he might not see her again.

The same moment she had when she thought he might not make it to her in time.

She nods, trying to put her attention on anything other than the thick rope of unsaid words wrapping itself around their bodies. “Are you sure you don’t want some of this?”

He drums his fingers on the table before letting out a soft sigh, playful eye roll following. “Fine.”

Dani grins and cuts a small piece, stabbing the end with her fork. She makes sure to slop up extra syrup before handing it to him. He pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before his eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise.

“Not bad, still think the grilled cheese you made was better.”

A laugh tumbles out of her chest at his teasing and she shakes her head before taking the fork back when he passes it to her, their fingers brushing. She watches as their hands slip together, slowly falling until they rest on her kitchen table.

She eventually takes the fork with her other hand, allowing their touch to remain consistent, Malcolm’s thumb brushing against her own.

“Did you know…that French toast isn’t even French?” He smiles, his eyes alight with the semi-useless information. “It’s from a Roman cooking recipe, _liter dulcia_ , which just means ‘another sweet dish’.”

His hand inches closer on the table as he talks, invested in what he’s saying that the movements feel organic, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her outer hand. She considers his touch for a moment, the warm pressure that’s consistent and comforting.

Dani wants it, rather than needs it, and maybe that’s the difference.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to Tori for being generally awesome and for talking through some stuff with me. I appreciate you! 
> 
> i'm over at blainesebastian.tumblr.com if you ever want to chat about brightwell ;)


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